


Fools Rush In

by gingergallifreyan



Series: Gerald x Betty [1]
Category: A Passionate Woman (TV), The Last September (1999)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Teninch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 16:58:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingergallifreyan/pseuds/gingergallifreyan
Summary: Gerald is a former Captain in the Army, now working in London as a Civil Enforcement Officer after leaving Surrey to get away from his past. Betty is a single mother who moved to London to get away from her past. Will they be able to find love again??????





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been wanting to do something for poor Captain Colthurst for quite some time. He deserved much better than the lot that was handed to him in The Last September, so, if you’ll indulge me, I’m entrusting him to Betty’s capable hands. Because she deserves happiness, too, and something about this mustached man tells me that he’ll be able to provide that for her. He’s so loving and devoted… and he loves dancing.

She’d long since left Donald. Or rather, he’d asked her to leave after he’d learned of her affair.

“Just like your sister,” he’d spat. “The nerve. I always knew she was bad for you. Didn’t I tell you, Betty?”

Then she’d moved to London to start afresh, her and Mark. The appeal of a big city, the anonymity of it, was just what she needed. It’d only helped that her mother had passed. Margaret stayed with her for a time to help her adjust.

She’d reverted to her maiden name and found a job as a cleaner. One of her fellow tenants agreed to keep Mark during the day. She sent him to school when he was old enough.

Every Saturday morning, she took him for breakfast at the cafe up the street. And every morning, she noticed the man sitting in the corner, sipping his cuppa and reading the paper, eating his egg salad sandwich.

Betty thought he was quaint. The mustache was a bit garish at first, but the more she studied him, the more endearing it became. His eyes were kind, his uneven features picturesque, his hair was thick and luscious, and his long fingers turning the pages of the paper were gentle. He was always alone, she noticed. No sign of any attachment. No family member ever joined him, and certainly no woman…

And then she’d look away, down at her plate, out at the street, trying to put aside her ridiculous infatuation, trying to convince herself that she didn’t see him glancing at her in return. She would not let her heart get entangled again, not after Leeds. She’d married the wrong man, had an affair with another, and everything had ended in bitter heartbreak.

She ran in these mental circles every Saturday morning. Why she punished herself with these thoughts, trying to convince herself she didn’t deserve to love again, she didn’t know, when really, it helped her feel alive. The temptation, the thrill at the thought of a handsome man, maybe dancing with him.

Not that raising Mark wasn’t enough for her. She loved her son dearly, and the longer they were together, the sorrier she felt that she’d wanted to leave him to be with Craze. She was happy to work hard and provide for him. She was happy to be able to purchase her own coal in the winters, as small as the pile was, happy to be able to rent a small flat. The community of mothers in the building became important for her in the absence of her sister, and they all helped each other with the children. It helped especially that she could simply lie and say she was a widower.

“Excuse me?”

She jumped a little and looked up at the voice to find the man in the corner attached to it, and his chestnut brown eyes shone with hope.

“I’m sorry. Did I startle you?”

She stared at him for a moment, hardly able to believe that he was actually standing before her. “No.”

“Ehm, Gerald, hi.”

She smiled lightly. “Hi.”

He shuffled his feet. “Is this your son? I see you here with him on Saturdays and I always wonder.”

“Y-yes.”

“Would your husband mind if I sat with you?”

She smiled lightly. “I… don’t have a husband.”

“Oh.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled and nervously chuckled. “Would you mind, then?”

She pursed her lips and smiled. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Oh, wonderful.” He eagerly pulled out a chair and sat. “What are you called?”

“Betty, and this is Mark.”

He smiled at the boy. “Hello, Mark.”

He didn’t look up from where he was drawing on a paper.

“Mark, say hello.”

“It’s alright. He doesn’t know me.” He looked at her. “And neither do you, Betty.”

“You read the paper and eat egg salad sandwiches every Saturday morning.”

He blushed. “Well… I… yes, I do, as a matter of fact. And you get a chelsea bun with your coffee.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I do.”

“So you live around here?”

“Up the street. You?”

“Must be the other way from me. I only ever see you on Saturdays.”

“I work a lot.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “What do you do?”

She laced her fingers together beneath the table and looked down. “I clean. It’s nothing special.”

“You don’t seem like nothing special.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his, and she couldn’t help but smile a little at the warmth she found. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Civil Enforcement Officer. Now that’s nothing special. Neither was the war.”

“You were in the war?”

“A Captain, yes.”

“Me dad were a soldier, died in Dunkirk.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen, Betty, do you enjoy dancing?”

Her eyes widened a little.

“I know a nice little club. Would you be interested in going out tonight?”

“I-I…” Her heart pounded in her chest. She wondered how poorly this would end.

“Oh, please say yes. I’d love to take you.”

She looked down and swallowed. “I suppose I can ask someone to watch Mark.”

He grinned. “That’d be great. May I call round 7?”

“Can we meet outside this cafe?”

“Of course. Still at 7, yes?”

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’d been years since Gerald had heard from Lois, over a decade since he’d received her last letter. Well, the letter from her aunt. The guilt that surrounded the document had never left him.

After the war, there was nothing for him in Surrey. Not while she was still there, and certainly no desirable work, so he left for London. He bounced around between a few odd jobs until he landed a position as a Civil Enforcement Officer.

In his free time on Saturday mornings, he took to eating in the cafe down the street from his flat. He rather enjoyed their egg salad sandwich with his paper. The ritual became comfortable, so he kept with it.

Several years into his routine, he noticed a woman, dark hair and lovely face, and a young boy sitting with her. He’d seen countless patrons come and go in the cafe, even noticed a few pretty girls, but the shadow of Lois hung over him, so he never looked twice. And more besides, none of those pretty girls had given him a passing glance.

This woman, however, did. She watched him for a few moments, and then she’d divert her gaze and rest her hand on her chest. The light from her eyes disappeared until she spoke to the boy, possibly her son, and then she’d smile. She was beautiful anyway, but the way her smile put color in her cheeks warmed him a little. She refused to look at him again until they returned to the cafe the next weekend.

Who was she, he wondered, and why was was she so sad? He wanted to speak with her, but his guilt over Lois bubbled up again, and he left the matter alone.

And then one Saturday, they didn’t show. The longer the morning went on, the more intermittently he glanced at the door.

“I’m sure it ain’t nothin’, lad.”

He looked up in surprise at Mrs. Hayes, the wife of the cafe owner. “What?”

“The woman and the boy. Maybe he took sick and she needed to care for ‘im. You watch them quite a bit, I’ve noticed. Sweet lady she is. They’ll come round next weekend, I’d wager. Perhaps you should ask for her name if she does. From what I gather, she watches you quite a bit as well. Might you be sweet on each other?”

He blushed. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

She patted his shoulder. “Mr. Colthurst, I reckon you wouldn’t be lookin’ at that door waitin’ for her to ride in on a cloud if it weren’t nothin’ there.”

He smiled a little and shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“You look so sad sometimes. Now, we don’t need no others to make us ‘appy, but why not go for someone that could bring a smile to your face? Might bring a smile to hers, too.” She walked to the kitchen.

Maybe she was right. Wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?

And lucky for him, as predicted, she and the boy did return to the cafe the next weekend. He waited for her to finish her routine of watching him so as not to disturb her. His heart pounded and he had a hard time finishing his sandwich, but he did his best to maintain an air of being aloof. He glanced at her once, and she’d not looked away yet, so he buried his head in his paper for a few minutes longer. When he felt it was safe, he peeked from behind his protective barrier to see her looking away, anywhere but him.

Why? Why was she so determined to hide herself? Perhaps she had secrets of her own, much like him.

Maybe this was his chance to put his past behind him, and maybe he could give her that chance, too. He gathered his wits, which took far more effort than he’d anticipated. Funny, he thought, how he’d fought in the trenches, but he barely had the courage to walk across the room to speak to a beautiful woman. He supposed the act required a different kind of fortitude.

“Now or never,” he sighed to himself. He folded his paper and stood.


	3. Chapter 3

Gerald stepped out of the bath and toweled off. He sprayed on some English Leather, donned his white Oxford, black tie, and blazer, and examined himself in the small mirror. The man staring back at him was devilishly handsome (at least he hoped Betty would think so), and he smoothed a hand through his chestnut locks. He combed his mustache once more and nodded to himself. Glancing at his watch, he walked out the door.

—

Betty hesitated before opening her wardrobe. Tucked behind her uniforms and day dresses was her nicest gown, the silk yellow one. She hadn’t worn it since Craze died, and she hadn’t gone dancing since she and Donald had moved into their house. Certainly not since moving to London.

She pulled the hanger from the bar and laid the garment on her bed. Tears filled her eyes and she swallowed them back. She wouldn’t begin her first date with Gerald by reliving those awful memories.

She was tired of the shame and the hurt she carried around from Craze’s betrayal. She’d told herself long enough that she didn’t deserve another chance at love. Maybe Gerald was her way to put all this behind her once and for all, to make some new memories in the dress.

She changed and curled her hair, and all the while, her new resolve lost a bit of its air as she prayed he wouldn’t ask her too many probing questions. What would he think of her when he found out the truth? The longer she begged, the more nervous she became. She needed to leave before she convinced herself to stay home, so she grabbed her coat and headed out the door.

—

Gerald leaned on the brick wall next to the cafe, glancing this way and that in anticipation. And just as the setting sun peeked from behind a cloud, Betty rounded the corner. She smiled when she saw him, and she was an angel, a vision of pure loveliness. He had to remind himself to breathe.

“Hello,” she said bashfully.

“Betty, you’re beautiful.”

She turned her face into her shoulder, blushing. “Thank you, Gerald.”

He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” She threaded her arm through his.

They were comfortably silent for a few moments as they strolled down the pavement.

“When did you move from the north?” he offered.

“Few years ago. Mark was still little. I needed a new start. You from London?”

“Surrey. I needed a new start as well.”

“Seems we both ‘ave that,” she said softly.

Was that a bit of hope in her voice, if he heard correctly? He smiled. “Yes, we have.”

After a few more moments, they arrived at the club. Gerald opened the door for her and the lively sounds of rockabilly wafted up the stairwell.

A fresh wave of memories and guilt hit her and she froze. Her heart pounded and she blinked. She replayed the first time she met Craze, and then the night in the gazebo…

“Are you alright, Betty?”

The gentle touch of Gerald’s hand on her arm pulled her back to reality. She blinked. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure? You look… haunted.”

She met his eyes and found nothing but concern. “Did I?”

“Yes.”

She wrapped her arm around her middle and clutched the lapels of her coat over her chest. “Gerald, ’m sorry, but ‘m not up for dancing.”

“Would you rather do something else?”

“S-something else?”

“There’s plenty to do other than dancing. I really would like to spend some time with you.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me how it’s filled.”

She smiled lightly as the tension eased in her chest. “What’d you have in mind?”

“ _The Mousetrap_ is playing in West End. Have you seen it?”

“No.”

“And then there’s Madame Tussaud’s. I haven’t been to see the new President Kennedy figure.”

“I haven’t either.”

“Have you ever been?”

“‘Fraid not,” she giggled.

“I must rectify this immediately.” He beamed as he reached for her hand. “If we hurry, we can catch the bus. Are you up for a bit of running?”


End file.
